The Misadventures of Six Misfits
by the-prince-is-right
Summary: An entirely non canon story of the misadventures of our six vault hunters.
1. Chapter 1: Salvador

Author's note: This series is made with fans of Borderlands in mind. I highly recommend watching several videos relating to the game before reading, to get an idea of the characters, their appearances and personalities, and to know what the hell I'm talking about. Those videos are as follows:

Borderlands 2: Doomsday Trailer

Borderlands 2 Wimoweh Trailer

Borderlands 2: Krieg- A Meat Bicycle Built for Two

Borderlands 2 Opening Scene Cinematic

Anyway, that's enough of my blubbering. Just watch those four videos before reading.

Chapter one: Salvador.

Be Salvador.

You are Salvador. As so many others born and raised on Pandora, the giant spherical deathtrap, your last name was lost to you and everyone else. You left your hometown, Ovejas, and the anti-imperialist resistance, in search of a Vault. But right now, you don't remember any of that. You have a concussion, as you just jumped from a moving, exploding train.

It takes you a minute, or ninety, to come to. Your instincts instantly kick in and you pull both your guns, Vladof machine guns, pointing them around, finger itchy on your triggers. You establish that a threat is not present and de-digistruct them. Digistruction sure is helpful, you think to yourself.

But now is the matter of discovering where you are. You pick up a blood-crusted echo-recorder off of one of the dead train riders. Looking over the extensive map, you discover that you are just south a place known as Liar's Berg, which seems to be inhabited. You decide quickly to get there fast, because you are nearly freezing.

As you trudge through the snow, your progress is halted significantly by your stunted height. The snow just seemed to pile down. The storm showed no sign of stopping, and you needed to get inside. Or at least find a damn coat! Your teeth chatter, but your blood boils. Handsome Jack had just tried to kill you, but he would have to do better than a ton of dynamite to off you.

That Handsome bastard is going to get what's coming to him. When you meet him, you're going to rip off that smug mask and wear it for yourself! All that rage is starting to warm you up. Angry thoughts, Salvador, think angry thoughts. It really isn't that hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Now, nothing on Pandora wants to be your friend, especially not in the frozen wastes. Your guns are out and ready before you can blink, and your fingers are ready at the trigger. However, the movement had stopped, and whatever was making it seemed to have disappeared. But, it is better to be safe than sorry. You decide to investigate.

Be the movement.

You are now the Bullymong. You are an ugly, terrible, four-armed creature. You prefer cold environments, and hate humans invading your territory. You saw a short man walking and you can already feel the need to rip him apart invading your mind. You go to charge him, but he pulls out two guns. TWO. You may not be very smart, but you know enough to know that two guns are not to be trifled with. You hide.

Soon the man begins walking toward you, so you know it is fight or flight. Fight it is. You jump up, roaring to alert your brothers. Seven other Bullymongs leap from their caves and charge at the stout man.

Be Salvador again.

You are Salvador. Again. You grin madly at the Bullymongs charging you. Your fingers squeeze the triggers and lead flies from the gullets of your weapons, imbedding itself into the flesh and muscle and bone of the monsters. They howl in pain but keep coming. Four drop, four to go. You keep firing, but a loud click tells you that your ammo has somehow run out. "Screw it," you say, "I'll fight with my fists!" You throw down your guns, which deconstruct into random data, as your knuckles contact with one of the creatures' forehead. The sound of shattering is heard, and the thing lays motionless.

The death of five Bullymongs was not enough to stop the other three. They still attacked mercilessly, but this was just fuel for your joy. Your fists pound through the monsters until they all lie dead. Without a word, you turn and roll away on your spurs, humming "In the Hall of the Mountain King."

It wasn't long before the sun set. Traveling in the tundra was cold, but at night it was even worse. You gather up some flammable train bits that had flown this far, brake some bullets that had magically appeared in your inventory, and make a fire. You curl up next to it, your blubber and flame keeping you warm. You didn't sleep that night, and your finger never left his trigger. You hear roaring in the distance, and can see the glow of several other fires far away.

You fall into a daze. Half asleep, your thoughts wander to your home town. Not like it was a pleasant place. Nowhere on Pandora was pleasant. Your time there wasn't very joyous either. Well, to you it might have been, but most would disagree. You never had a girlfriend, or much of a family, or any friends. Hell, you barely knew people's names. You were, however, a soldier.

You were in the anti-imperial resistance, and you fought Hyperion with everything you had. This led to prolonged steroid use though out your life, which led to your stunted stature. It is also why you are so angry all the time. But, it did give you the ability to hold any two weapons in tandem. You once held a rocket launcher in your left hand and a sniper rifle in the other. Effective? No. Fun as hell? YES.

You were also quite the fan of torture. Not like you enjoyed it being done to you, no. But you did love doing it to other people. You found out about this Vault that has already given you so much trouble when you tore the legs and one arm off a Hyperion scout. The memories of his screams make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

Wait, no, that's not the memories. Your leg is on fire! OH SHIT YOUR LEG IS ON FIRE PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT!

After several minutes of dancing in the snow like an idiot, you put out the fire. Where were you? Oh, right. Torture. You didn't particularly hate Hyperion, but they were are particularly handy outlets for your unending rage.

You rise with the sun, the night being largely uneventful. By now the distant fires were nothing but tails of smoke. You could be suspicious, but bandits don't usually come this far south. But still, better keep an eye out. After walking for just a few hours, you can just almost see the outskirts of Liar's Berg.

But before you can take another step, you turn 180 degrees and point your guns in two directions, targeting the five people who just walked up behind you.


	2. Chapter 2: Gaige

Before I continue:

I should explain. All character attributes have been tweaked just a wee bit. For instance, everyone has only two guns, with the exception of Krieg (none) and Salvador (four). Maya has a fire SMG and a corrosive SMG. Axton has a normal Assault rifle and corrosive. Zero has a normal, bladed revolver and a corrosive. Salvador has two normal machine guns and two corrosive. Krieg is always using an axe, and Gaige has two shotguns. One normal, and the other is corrosive. The models of them will be revealed as I continue.

Furthermore, all characters have gone all the way down their blue skill trees and half way down their reds, except for Gaige, who is all red.

On a completely unrelated note:

Thank you to everyone who followed this series and left positive feedback. It was a huge inspiration for me, and I appreciate you all. I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations.

Thank you for your time.

Chapter 2: Gaige

Be Gaige.

You are now Gaige, the youngest Vault Hunter ever and definitely the most proud. Even though you have only been on Pandora for a matter of weeks, you have already forgotten your past identity and life, with the only exception being of your Dad. That man knew how to make some damn good cocoa. You have a tendency toward violent outbursts and Anarchy. You have a robotic arm that houses the digistruction schematics for your robot and best friend, D34THTR4P.

You could get into the backstory behind D34THTR4P, but you have a splitting headache and don't feel like getting into it right now. You just got flung from an exploding train, and you are not happy about it. A quick look around confirms that you are, in fact, buried in snow. Which is to say, that looking around reveals nothing, because you cannot see, because you are buried under a few feet of snow.

You take a few minutes to dig yourself out. It would have been easier to do so if you had your claws, but a glance at your ECHO tells you that you had no more Anarchy stacks. "Wonderful," you think to yourself, "Five hundred to zero in…" Wait, how long have you been unconscious? Reaching the surface nearly blinds you, like a newborn thresher first emerging from the ground, your eyes are not ready to take in that much light.

Once you regain your vision, you come to the stunning realization that you are boned. Completely and utterly boned, that is what you are. Nothing around you gives you any indication of where you are. There are no defining features to this snowy waste. No hills, no frozen lakes, nothing. Not even your ECHO map can tell you just where the hell you are. Better pick a direction and start walking.

You decide to go north, since you are really, really, REALLY far south. You picked a bad month to wear a skirt. Whilst walking aimlessly northward, you let your mind wander. You think of how unfair all of this is. Eighteen years old, barely an adult, and you're convicted for man-slaughter and have to flee the planet. Who even knows what became of your dear old Dad? But you love it. You love the freedom that comes with being a Vault Hunter. You love the satisfaction you get when you see D34THTR4P tear a marauder asunder. You love the danger that is constantly right behind you at every corner.

You love the Anarchy of it all. The chaos.

You quicken your pace. If you're going to die, it's going to be in a blaze of glory, not in a frozen waste. A bullet to the brain would be more elegant than freezing. Too bad these shields don't have climate control. That's a thought…

The gears in your head start turning as to how you could accomplish such a feat. Buy a few shields, head to a workshop, tinker around for a while. These are the thoughts that keep you up at night working. Once you get your hand on something, you just have to know how it works and how to make it better. You are so distracted by these thoughts that you don't notice yourself walking by abandoned houses and hills. Things begin to look more livable, yet completely empty. But you don't even notice.

But someone else does. A single psycho, adorned in the mask that somehow all of them have, sees you, a young girl, walking alone in the snow.

Be the psycho.

You are the Psycho. You think your name is Phil? You don't remember anymore. For some reason or another, all you can think about is a horrible relationship with your mother and a desire to eat eyeballs. And you see an exquisite pair of eyes walking by right now. Your stomach rumbles, and you drag your finger across the barbed edge of your saw. It bleeds, and the pain drives your hunger wild. You charge forth, with no regard for your own safety. You scream at the top of your lungs as you bring your axe down on the girl's head, but a shotgun blast from a tri-barrel Jakobs sends you flying backwards. AS you bleed you, the last thing you see is the girl regarding a piece of your brain splattered on her shoes.

Be Gaige.

You are Gaige again, and glad to be out of Phil's head. Seriously, that guy has some problems! Well, had some problems. You made sure those were resolved. But now you know not to let your guard down. That blast was certainly loud enough to wake more marauders, and in groups they are much more dangerous. Better put some pep in your step.

But now you feel it. That drive. That lust for more power. Anarchy. You got twenty six stacks from killing that psycho. It's a start, you say out loud to no one in particular. Why did you say that? Why are you still talking out loud? Dude, shut up!

After you manage to convince the idiot writing this to stop, you get a move on. The sun is going down, and you can hear shouting and gunfire in the distance. While this is normal on Pandora, you get the sinking feeling that it is getting closer.

The wastes get only colder with the setting of the sun, and you start to shiver. Got to keep moving, Gaige, just keep moving. It's getting harder and harder. D34THTR4P could carry you, but you might fall asleep or freeze if you cease your ever onward struggle for life.

Oh, yes, it is indeed a struggle. You can feel the icy hands of death on your throat, wrapping his other bony hand around you. His embrace was tightening fast. You're going to die. No, no you can't die. Not like this. You'd rather shoot yourself than freeze. Just before you start to seriously consider pulling the trigger with your toes, you spot a burning train car. You don't know how it got this far, or, conversely, how you got that far away, but you welcome its yellow warmth.

You manage to salvage some of the chairs that were not ruined and make a bed. Not particularly glamorous, but it's something. Warm and kind of comfortable, you quickly fall asleep. You dream about Dad.

You always took him for granted, but he loved you and all your rebellious genius. He would constantly reach out to you, but you would turn him away. But he never stopped loving you. He made you cocoa, and supported your mad experiments. He listened. He listened and understood. And even after all the crap you put him through; he still helped you escape Eden-5, because he was your father.

You woke up that morning in a cold sweat. Shaking the dreams form your head, you press on. By now your ECHO is showing a town, Liar's Berg. It doesn't take you long to reach it. You step onto a cliff overlooking the town. There you find a stout man, holding two machine guns, and four other people.


End file.
